


What Do You Want?

by HelloTroggy



Series: Within Time and Space [5]
Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fingering, Hand Jobs, No use of y/n, One Shot, One Shot Episode, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Season 2, Pussy Play, Reader Insert, Reunion, Season 2 spoilers, Smut, The Bucket is Off, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28740903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloTroggy/pseuds/HelloTroggy
Summary: It's been almost a year. Why does he care?
Relationships: Mando/you, The Mandaloran/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Series: Within Time and Space [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079729
Kudos: 55





	What Do You Want?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa/gifts).



You arrive on Takodana burdened by freight, contraband, and cares. The first two are swiftly addressed by the port’s laborers, but what remains is for you to attend. When you’re on  _ this _ world, and you want to do any sort of business over and under the table, there’s one being everyone knows: Maz Kanata.

Short of stature, wide of vision, and grand in ambition. The old Pirate Queen had done it all twice over in her millennium of years; as soon as your heavy heart walked through her front door, she was yelling your name and waving you over with those scrawny arms.

“Who’s the boy giving you problems?” you choke on the drink you were taking. You’d ask her how she knew, but she’s never told you before. No reason she would now. You give a cough and a sputter to clear your windpipe, your voice is cramped when you retort “You could’ve waited until I was done drinking, ya’know.” Maz groans dramatically and throws her arms in the air, waving the rag she’d been holding. “Such an ungrateful child! Begging for my help so loudly it makes my teeth hurt, and complaining when I agree to give it.” she walks off, then. Leaving you to compose yourself and to make a circuit of the room. You have her attention, but so does everyone else.

When she comes back around, you sigh. “I’d rather not divulge my dirty laundry in a crowd, Maz.” This gets you a shrug. “If you want me now, this is how you have me, Sweet Girl.” She’s gone again as you’re choking on your drink again. How does she kriffing do it?! She knows some things already, obviously. You can be general, you can’t wait for her to be alone. You’re gonna need to get back in the air within the hour. Talk, drink, and run. How very much like you.

“He’s a leaver, too. I’m sore about it is all.” you offer when she’s back for the third time. Now, she’s pulling up a stool. Someone hollars for her, and they only get a grunt and a wave as those massive eyes focus on you. “Is he leaving for things that matter?” she probes, turning to pull a mug up from under the counter and filling it from a steaming kettle. 

Once she’s returned to her perch, you shrug “To him, sure sounds like. He’s the type to be just as serious as he sounds.” “Sounds normal for his… type.” she takes a sip from her steaming mug, letting you have a second. She’s not wasting time. The sorcery freaked you out, but it was all stuff you wanted to tell her, anyway. “He said he’d like to make it up to me.” you drain your cup and set it down. She gives an emphatic shrug. “From him? Sounds like a matter of time and circumstance.” You nod and counter “Why should I wait on him?”. “Did he ask you to, cyar’ika?” You’re stunned as her gaze bores into you. You know that word. It’s Mando’a, but you don’t remember what it means. “He’ll come back.” Maz takes a sip from her mug. “It’s entirely up to you who you’ll be when he sees you next.”

“Well maybe I just want to sulk, you old witch.” you aim for dry humor, but she’s said her peace. “Go occupy your time,” Kanata shoos, “He’ll come back when he’s meant to.” You get up as she starts to swat at you with a cane. Before walking out the door you turn to look at the old legend. Seen it all, done it all, lived to be over a thousand years old and now she just lets people come and go through her house to buy food, play sabacc, and listen to music. You figure she knows more than a few things you don’t, and choose to trust her counsel. Your ship has already been loaded with its new cargo, and you have another 22 minutes on the dock’s meter. You’re ready to get to what’s next.

By fate or happenstance, it was almost a standard year before you would see Mando again. 

He had asked you to keep an eye out for him, and said he’d do the same. And so you did. You’d been across the galaxy twice over, toting cargo and crew. At every port, you’d checked for him and had not been lucky. Until today

One afternoon, while docked on Navarro, your commlink is pinged. It’s him, saying your name. No, asking. Your name is a question coming from him. “Hey Mando” you answer. Trying to be calm despite the kismet of it all.

He said to meet him in the cantina. He said he wants to talk. He said it’s been  _ too _ long.

The nervous energy in your body is venting itself through jumping leg muscles; which makes your foot bounce to a beat only you’re aware of. He said he’d be there in 10, and it’s been 9. You try to remember the lesson you’ve been practicing for almost a year. Patience. A deep inhale creates a long exhale, and you’re still. The door opens as the server droid brings your juice, and there he is.

When he steps into the cantina, right on time, you go deaf momentarily from the roaring pulse in your ears. You let out a shaky breath as he approaches. “Hey Mando. Been a minute.” Stars, you wish you could play it cool. He doesn’t sit down. “I was hoping we could talk in private” It doesn’t feel fair that the sound of his voice can affect you? Your emotions feel so chaotic because the tension he’s radiating is harmonizing with your own internal turmoil. “Your place or mine?” you ask dubiously. He eases up the barest degree when you don’t reject him out of hand. “Yours. It’s… a long kriffing story.”.

Your vessel, an early run of the HWK-290 light freighter, had been dubbed the Albatross before it’d come to you. Your Uncle had left it to you after losing a blaster fight with a Wookie, according to your Mother. She added he’d named it after a death omen he read about in some book he said he’d found out in Wild Space. Very wizard, right? It was as good a name as any other by your reckoning, but you couldn’t help but call it the ‘tross. 

Names have power, and everything needs a simple name. So, when he starts your conversation with “My name is Din Djarin.” as the first thing he decides to tell you once you’ve gotten settled on board, you’re a bit stunned. “Okay” you conclude, leaning forward in your seat across from him. “I thought you couldn’t tell people your name?” a small gesticulation of your hand passes the conversation to him. “I changed my mind.” What does that even mean? “I’ve known you how long? I go almost a year of not hearing from, or seeing you, and the first thing you wanna tell me when we’re alone is your kriffing name?”. “Yes.”. “Why?”

“I don’t want you to not know my name.”

The hush feels so heavy. There’s confusion, and not a small amount of hurt, in you. “What’s happened to you?” is all that’s left. The Mandalorian… Mando… Din… The man is sitting straight in his seat, arms folded to his chest over the shiny Beskar breastplate. The bucket helm rolls back as he looks up, maybe in exasperation, maybe just to compose himself. When the visor is pointed at you again, he starts.

He starts, and doesn’t truly stop until the end. Over a few hours, he tells you the story of the last year as it weaves between planets and factions like a blender in a bowl of cream. At the center of it all, is the Kid. Grogu; who went from bounty, to foundling, to being taking into the care of the Last Jedi Knight. “When we said goodbye, I removed my helmet. I showed my face to another living being.” You don’t have a chance to do anything before he removes the bucket. “And I don’t care.”

The silence is too loud as you look him in the eye. Why can’t you look away? How are those eyes so dark brown? They look like they’ll swallow you whole. And they’re getting bigger. You’re so focused, it’s not obvious that he’s physically moved closer to you. When you finally blink, your brain finally processes that he’s on his knees in front of you. You’re looking down at him still too stunned to process what you’re seeing.

Mando… Din… isn’t touching you, and he’s quiet. Why is he being so quiet? Everything you could possibly want to say keeps getting caught in your throat. His Adam’s apple bobs, and he might finally break the silence. But he doesn’t. Those eyes don’t leave you, they stay locked on yours.

Apparently, you’ll need to be the one to say something first. He’s put the ball in your court. Awesome. Not like you’re able to think or anything. You’re pulling up nothing. How the fuck do you respond to this? Can’t he just read your mind through how intensely he’s staring into your eyes? Surely it’s written in plain Basic behind your pupils.    
  
“I… Need...A minute.” you manage. He blinks, hearing you and backing up a bit. The space feels less confining, and your gears start to process  _ him _ . 

He’s handsome. Which is surprising. Pouty lips, a charming aquiline nose, and well shaped brows. It’d be so simple to kneel down on the floor with him and kiss him, right now. You  _ really _ want to. With a deep breath, you’re finally able to express the heart of this issue for you. “Why do you want me to see your face and know your name?”

The question hangs in the air like debris. “Because-” his voice feels so clogged from holding in so much. “I care about you.” You almost scoff at that, you can’t help it. He hasn’t contacted you this whole time because he was quested to take care of a 50 year old space wizard kid.

All that taken at face value: are you supposed to believe that you were on his mind, but he never felt the need to let you know? Memories from your last parting still stung. He’d abandoned you. “And why should that matter?” you feel so tired and raw. You didn’t expect this to bring out so much. “Will you let me make it right?”

“Not if you’re gonna leave. I… I’d rather we not.” you scratch a nonexistent itch on your forearm and look away. A warm weight on your knee almost sends you out of your skin. His ungloved hand is cupping the joint. Not intruding, but he’s asking to make contact. He wants to touch you. You want that too.

You’re not going to cry. A deep breath in and out. In and out. Okay.

“I have nowhere else to go, sweet girl.” 

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

He has a hand resting on each of your knees, thumbs making lazy circles over the material of your pants. Touching you, again. Your back leans into the seat, pushing your bottom forward, just so. His grip tightens, and he’s trying to anticipate your rejection.

The want and uncertainty are dueling. It’s incredible really, to see him while he sees you. His gaze is so intense, but there’s no real emotion you can discern. He’s got a better bluffing face than you would have thought, given he always hides his mug.  _ “Will you let me make it right?” _ he’d asked. 

Slowly, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pants, pushing them down deliberately. Satisfaction is yours when his eyes widen, you’re even able to see his pupils dilate once your underwear is visible over bare thighs. A thrill runs through your veins when he pulls your boots off, and finishes pulling the coveralls off. 

Without hesitating, the Mandalorian has your knees pushed apart and your hips tilted: perfectly exposing your covered pussy. He holds eye contact with you as he sinks toward you, mouthing at your core. Bare hands caress your inner thighs as they come to your core. One pulls aside your underwear and the other gingerly traces a line through your labia. The very masculine sound of approval he gives you is exhilarating. 

His stiff tongue replaces his fingers, parting your folds and drawing a low keening sound from your chest. Those fingers are redirected, and begin stroking your opening while his tongue pulls at your clit. The tongue, the fingers, the licking, the stroking. It’s so much, and you feel a coil tightening. Everything he’s doing is driving it further and further. When he finally pushes a digit into you, it almost comes undone. The keening turns to full throated moans, and at last becomes wails of pleasure when he begins stroking you where Everything Ends and Begins. 

Hums of approval carry you through your orgasm. Sucking, licking, stroking. He’s pulling it out of you like he wants it all for himself. You think you can hear him mumbling into your quivering core, but can’t quite make it out over the roar of your pulse in your ears.

When you go still, he sits back on his heels, giving you some space to come down. Now he’s too far away. You practically melt onto the floor and into him. He’s caught off guard at first, but catches up quickly. A hand goes around the base of your skull and the other around your waist, pulling you closer to press you against him. In this position, your knees on either side of his left thigh and his legs are stretched out behind you. 

Yes. This is right. Your touch wanders. He’s still armored? That won’t do. Your cheeks colored prettily from the excitement. He gives you the sweetest smile. “Can you get out of all this?” you press your hands flat against his chest plate, flexing them into the cold Beskar, “I… I need to touch you.” He nods eagerly, plucking at the magnetics holding on the cuirass.

When he’s bare from the waist up, you’re on him like sand on Tatooine. Pushing him back and setting yourself down. Your hands are roaming over the hills and valleys of his skin, trying to memorize him by touch. The sympathetic sounds you make as your fingertips discover scars can’t be helped. He takes a hold of your left hand, and brings it to his lips for an impossibly tender kiss. This was starting to feel right. 

You give an experimental shift of your hips, finding the friction against your very sensitive clit too delicious to stop. “You wanna ride this dick?” his voice is low and husky, reverberating in the nearly nonexistent space between your bodies. The hand he’d so sweetly kissed, wanders its way into his pants to grip his member. He’s compelled to lay back as you stroke him, still making a decision as to what you want. 

He’s so hard in your hand, and a bit of precum has gathered at his head. Spreading it over his head earns you an honest to Maker whine from Din Djarin, the Mandalorian. “Please?” his voice is so thin and small. He’s humbled himself before the altar of your cunt, and has begged your favor. It was so sweet, but you know what you’re going to do. 

Not stopping, you grind down harder. You’re rubbing yourself against him like a lothcat in heat, and it doesn’t matter. His hand wraps around yours where it’s holding his cock, fucking your fist while you ride his thigh. There’s no regard for volume, and it’s heady to hear him enjoying himself. This spurs you on, until the spark in your center goes off and your screaming. Your release comes on suddenly and violently, and is followed by his as his seed spills over your knuckles.

Everything is hazy in the afterglow, but you have enough presence of mind to not fall on him, angling so your boneless body is to his side. You have an arm draped over his chest, and it’s peaceful. Him holding you slightly while the ebb and flow of his breath sets a gentle rhythm. 

It’s a while before you can bear to end the cuddles, but it’s you who’s the first to sit up. He gazes up at you, eyes soft and dreamy. A hand cups your cheek and you lean into it. His thumb traces your lower lip, and you’re scared it’ll start trembling. So, you tuck it under your teeth to hold it still. “I’ll only leave if you want me to.” 

  
If you want… You still don’t know what you want, exactly. But he’ll stay, unless you say otherwise. That’s not nothing.    
  
Standing very carefully so as not to accidentally tread on your lover, you get up. With a forefinger, you point to the crew bunk. “You can stay there. Lift off is at 0600.” Din is left in your hull with cum stains down the front of his pants, and your essence drying on his face. He can be patient.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your patience. This one took me a second to write. 
> 
> For good news, I'd like to say I have plans to expand this series to 9 episodes, so be sure to subscribe to my profile for notifications on when I post. I **do not** update the episodes except to edit them, because I can't help but pick at what I've already posted.
> 
> This is a gift for ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa whose [Of Constellations & Creeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236104) is the best ABO fic I've ever read. Seriously. Omegaverse has never been my gig, and I think her work is P H E N O M I N A L. Please check it out.
> 
> Please feel free to bug me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/hellotroggy) and support me on [Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/hellotroggy) for just a dollar.


End file.
